At last the fool was gone. The door clicked. Now they _were_ alone. Said Hammond: “I feel I’ll never have you to myself again. These cursed people! Janey”—and he bent his flushed, eager gaze upon her—“let’s have dinner up here. If we go down to the restaurant we’ll be interrupted, and then there’s the confounded music” (the music he’d praised so highly, applauded so loudly last night!). “We shan’t be able to hear each other speak. Let’s have something up here in front of the fire. It’s too late for tea. I’ll order a little supper, shall I? How does that idea strike you?” “Do, darling!” said Janey. “And while you’re away—the children’s letters—” “Oh, later on will do!” said Hammond. “But then we’d get it over,” said Janey. “And I’d first have time to—” “Oh, I needn’t go down!” explained Hammond. “I’ll just ring and give the order... you don’t want to send me away, do you?” Janey shook her head and smiled. “But you’re thinking of something else. You’re worrying about something,” said Hammond. “What is it? Come and sit here—come and sit on my knee before the fire.” “I’ll just unpin my hat,” said Janey, and she went over to the dressing-table. “A-ah!” She gave a little cry. “What is it?” “Nothing, darling. I’ve just found the children’s letters. That’s all right! They will keep. No hurry now!” She turned to him, clasping them. She tucked them into her frilled blouse. She cried quickly, gaily: “Oh, how typical this dressing-table is of you!” “Why? What’s the matter with it?” said Hammond. “If it were floating in eternity I should say ‘John!’” laughed Janey, staring at the big bottle of hair tonic, the wicker bottle of eau-de-Cologne, the two hair-brushes, and a dozen new collars tied with pink tape. “Is this all your luggage?” “Hang my luggage!” said Hammond; but all the same he liked being laughed at by Janey. “Let’s talk. Let’s get down to things. Tell me”—and as Janey perched on his knees he leaned back and drew her into the deep, ugly chair—“tell me you’re really glad to be back, Janey.” “Yes, darling, I am glad,” she said. But just as when he embraced her he felt she would fly away, so Hammond never knew—never knew for dead certain that she was as glad as he was. How could he know? Would he ever know? Would he always have this craving—this pang like hunger, somehow, to make Janey so much part of him that there wasn’t any of her to escape? He wanted to blot out everybody, everything. He wished now he’d turned off the light. That might have brought her nearer. And now those letters from the children rustled in her blouse. He could have chucked them into the fire. “Janey,” he whispered. “Yes, dear?” She lay on his breast, but so lightly, so remotely. Their breathing rose and fell together. “Janey!” “What is it?” “Turn to me,” he whispered. A slow, deep flush flowed into his forehead. “Kiss me, Janey! You kiss me!”